


todo cambió

by kodavista



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Not Beta Read, One Shot, Oops, We Die Like Men, but i relate, how do i tag ?, keith blushes too much i think ?, keith keeps putting his foot in his mouth, lance is really trying, so OOC ? i guess ?, train rides from hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 16:21:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20549102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kodavista/pseuds/kodavista
Summary: Four times Keith hated the train and the one time he could admit they weren’t the absolute worst.Alternatively, Keith can’t go more than a minute without making an ass out of himself but somehow the stranger on the train doesn't punch him in the face.





	todo cambió

**Author's Note:**

> here we go. i have a million drafts saved and this is the first thing i've finished for voltron. rip. not beta-read. like at all. i own nothing, i haven't even finished the last season.
> 
> also, the title comes from a love song but actually has nothing to do with the fic at all.

**1**

Keith hates public transit.

More than that, he hates Shiro who asked him to stay at his new apartment to sort through boxes and boxes of his old shit. He’d bribed Keith with the promise of pizza from his favorite corner shop and, after hours of hard labor, Shiro finally let him leave- at almost one in the morning. Keith barely managed to catch the last train to his apartment 25 minutes away and now he’s sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair, willing time to go by faster. His headphones are at home, still plugged into his computer after binge watching space documentaries the night before, so Keith rests his head back, staring at the gray ceiling above him. 

The train crawls to a stop, doors opening and closing quickly- one stop down, two to go- and there’s shuffling in the seat across from him. There’s a headache growing in Keith’s left temple and he just wants to be home so when the strangers rustling doesn’t quiet down, Keith’s ready to none-to-kindly tell them to shut up. He’s halfway through trying to get the stranger’s attention when the words die in his throat. 

Sitting cross-legged on the opposite side of the train is a boy around his age, tan skin warm even in the harsh fluorescent lights and ocean blue eyes hyper focused on the box in his lap he’s trying to maneuver open. A pink tongue sticks out of the corner of his lips, concentration clear on his face, and Keith can’t get a grasp on what he meant to say to the gorgeous stranger.

Long, thin hands finally get the box open and starts moving whatever is inside before raising a spoon to his mouth. After it happens twice more, Keith realizes this absolutely beautiful boy is eating a whole cake to himself on the train at almost one in the morning. Either the boy is insane or Keith’s dreaming. 

Fighting back a laugh, Keith slouches in his seat and opens his camera, phone titled as far up as he can without being suspicious. The photo will be grainy, as a product of the harsh train lights, but Keith is sure Shiro will be able to make out the ridiculousness that is the boy across from him. For months they’ve had a running contest of finding the weirdest people they could in the city but photo proof was always required after Shiro started making up stories just to mess with Keith’s competitiveness. He knew this would take the cake- pun unintended.

As satisfied with the shot as he’ll ever be, Keith surreptitiously hits the button to take the photo and instantly freezes. The flash lights up the space in front of him and the loud shutter sound, signifying he’s taken the photo, breaks the careful silence in the train car. Eyes wide, Keith’s gaze swivels up and locks with the boy in front of him. 

Staring at the boy, Keith really wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole. There’s nowhere to run and he sinks further in the hard plastic seat underneath him, eyes resolutely looking anywhere but at the absolutely gorgeous boy sitting opposite him on the subway. The blush is rising on his face and Keith really, really regrets every moment that led up to this. He can feel his soul leaving his body and wonders if it’s worth getting off at the next stop and waiting for a different train because how can he stand 20 more minutes with this guy after what just happened. He’s just about to look at the next stop and calculate how much later he’ll be home, factoring in the extra stops, when the boys lips curl into the most devilish smirk he’s seen. He winks suggestively and Keith is sure this is how he dies. He really wants to text Shiro and ask what he’s supposed to do but that means unlocking his phone and the guy’s already aware he’s taken a photo so that’s out of the question. Anything is more interesting than looking ahead at the boy in front of him and he’s desperately hoping they’ll both ignore the awkwardness when the other boy clears their throat.

“If you wanted a picture, you could’ve just asked,” a smooth voice tells him, a light hearted chuckle following. There’s a deep red flush crawling down his neck and Keith wishes, again, that this is all some nightmare. The boy across from him licks the last of the frosting off his spork, winking at him, and scoops up another piece of cake, stretching his hand across the open space and shaking it in front of him. He can vaguely see the name of the bakery scrawled on the top of the box- Altea’s Sweets, his favorite- and the cake seems to be chocolate. He’s gone there for a celebratory slice every time something major happened and Keith stares with wide eyes at the boy across from him. He’s giving Keith an odd look, arm still outstretched with the spork and cake combo waiting.

“It’s really unhealthy to eat an entire cake by yourself, you know.”

The cocky grin on the stranger’s face morphs into a hard glare, lips pulled thin, before he roughly sits back, shoving the bite of cake into his mouth angrily. He grumbles something that sounds like, “asshole,” before going back to eating his cake.

More than mortified, Keith feels ashamed. The guy hadn’t been bothering him anyway, sitting there and eating his cake in silence. Keith had started the chain of events that led to this but, really, why did the guy have to go and offer cake to him randomly? He just wanted to get a picture to show Shiro just how ridiculous it looked; not a piece of cake and a flirty stranger. It’s not Keith’s fault if he doesn’t know exactly what to say to that. 

Before Keith can think of anything to say that may ease the tension- and really, he thinks, he shouldn’t have to considering what he said wasn’t  _ that _ offensive- the train has come to a stop and the doors open for him to start on the last part of his trek home. Looking back, he finds the other boy watching him. Giving him a mostly awkward smile, Keith shrugs and walks out.

When he recounts the story later, Shiro laughs at him and jokes about how long Keith spends describing the cute boy. Keith doesn’t find it that funny.

  
  
  
  
  


**2**

Keith is pretty fucking sure this train is cursed. He’d been trying to get onto the train and find a decent seat but ran into someone halfway through. When he looks up to see the cake guy- Lance, as it said on his coffee cup- with a crumpled plastic cup, coffee dripping down his hand and the rest soaking into Keith’s shirt, Keith knows this is some cosmic joke. Besides the complete embarrassment, it’s extremely unfair that the one person who he can’t seem to get out of his mind lately manages to fall into awkward situations with him. 

“Watch where the fuck you’re going, jesus,” Keith growls, yanking his jacket off to keep it from getting soaked with coffee from his shirt. The words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them. Frustration from the early shift he was supposed to be at 15 minutes ago and the now added delay of having to change his outfit because someone dropped coffee on him overwhelms him and he takes a deep breath. The hiss from Lance, whose eyes are still wide in disbelief but quickly shifting into the usual glare, jolts Keith from his growing anger and his head snaps up, eyes meeting Lance’s. Beside him stands a burly boy, obviously his friend, with a yellow bandana wrapped around his forehead. At first the boy looks confused and, after a moment where recognition passes over his features, he brings a large hand up to cover his mouth, eyes crinkling in laughter. He nudges Lance, snickering quietly, and the boy in question flushes red. 

Keith instantly feels uncomfortable in his own skin, he’s been on the receiving end of too many snide comments and cruel jokes to not know what those furtive glances mean. He’s sure they’re making fun of him and he refuses to stand for it.

He bites out a short, “fuck off,” before turning and glaring at the sign that lists the next few stops. If he got off at the next stop and then looped back home it’d take 25 minutes to get to his stop, plus the 10 to get to his apartment, 10 minutes back and-

“I’m sorry, man,” someone whispers behind him and Keith is determined to ignore it, regardless of whether it’s directed toward him or not. He’d rather not deal with weirdo passengers this morning, especially with a wet shirt and thinning patience.

There’s a deep sigh, “I didn’t mean to spill my coffee on you. I’m pretty bummed about not having any coffee now, too.”

Someone to his left, presumably the giggly friend, sighs and Keith can hear an admonished, “Lance.”

“Fuck off,” Keith repeats, fists clenched by his side. He counts the seconds, taking deep breaths and letting them out slowly, until the train slides to a stop and he pushes his way through the sea of people. He doesn’t look back as he leaves the train behind, determined to put Lance and his stupid comments out of his mind.

When Keith gets home he calls work to tell him some fake story about how sick he is-  _ food poisoning _ , he says- and promptly falls asleep.

  
  
  
  
  


**3**

It’s the height of rush hour when Keith makes it onto the train two weeks later. He’s yet to see Lance and, truthfully, he’s only slightly disappointed. The photo he’d managed to capture was grainy, as expected, and Shiro thought Keith’s blunder was funnier than the fact a complete stranger was eating cake on a train at almost one in the morning. Needless to say, he wasn’t feeling too good about himself after that. Still, he’d find himself thinking about deep blue eyes and tan skin more than he’d care to admit since that night.

This week marks the first week of his last semester at college and he’s mostly dreading the physics seminar he’ll be in, especially since it starts at 10 in the morning. The loud chatter of morning commuters and people rushing to their respective trains leads to a building headache and Keith shoves in his headphones in, before looking around for a seat. He’s not surprised when his quick search yields nothing and he resigns himself to holding onto the metal bar. 

The train is packed tight. Sitting by him is a mother and her daughter, the young girl chatting excitedly. Her blonde hair is pulled haphazardly into a ponytail and her mom, who’s fighting sleep on the seat beside her, nods occasionally in acknowledgement. The little girl turns to him and gives him a bright smile, waving enthusiastically, and Keith can’t help but look away. Children have always made him uncomfortable. Before Shiro’s parents had adopted him, he was surrounded by other kids and he doesn’t miss the company.

The cart he’s in jerks to a stop and there’s a few moments of shifting around- people getting on and off- before the doors close and he can feel the speed build up below his feet. If it’s possible, Keith feels more closed in than before, barely able to reach his pocket and change the music playing through his headphones. Someone behind him keeps elbowing his side and Keith debates elbowing them back, to give them a taste of their own medicine. A bump from the train pushes the person behind him right into his back, elbow catching and digging into his side. Using as much force as possible, Keith shoulders his way around to face them.

“Look, buddy, stop fuc- _ freaking _ \- elbowing me every five seconds,” he says icily, glancing at the blonde girl next to her mom to see if she’d overheard him. He didn’t sound as threatening censoring himself but it’d have to do. To make his point clearer, Keith levels a glare at the person before him until he notices who he’s just snapped at- Lance. Cake guy. Shit.

Keith’s blood runs cold as he meets Lance’s eyes. If Keith thought he looked beautiful at night it’s nothing compared to the way he looks now, hair artfully disheveled and brows drawn together in frustration. Lance’s mouth is moving rapidly and it takes Keith a moment to realize he can’t hear anything besides the music from his headphones.

Lance is looking at him expectantly and Keith clears his throat, taking one earbud out before mumbling, “I couldn’t hear you.”

Awkward tension settles thick between them and Keith’s eye slide up to Lance’s face. Tan fingers pinch at the bridge of his nose before Lance heaves a deep sigh. The cart rocks again while Keith struggles to stay as far apart from Lance as he can. Still, they tumble together and Keith feels a sharp pain in his side.

“Are you kidding me, dude? Can you stop hitting me?” he snaps, glaring.

“I’m not trying to elbow you,  _ pendejo _ , but it’s kind of a tight fit here,” Lance hisses, voice lowered to an angry whisper. His ocean blue eyes have a hint of stormy gray and Keith struggles to maintain eye contact with how close they are. Another jerk of the train car jostles Keith into his chest, hands coming up to break his fall, as the boy clasps arms around his biceps to hold Keith steady. Keith freezes, a warm flush starting to work it’s way up his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

He’s not sure of the protocol at this point. Lance still has a light grip on his arms and Keith isn’t sure where to put his hands that isn’t the guys chest. His heart is hammering and he prays that whatever deity that’s been causing these mortifying situations will take pity on him just this once. 

There’s another jolt and Keith crashes into his chest again, heads bumping together, and he hears a quiet huff from somewhere close to his ear. Tense, Keith’s hands fist in the boys shirt and he takes a measured breath out before chancing a glance at the boy pressed up against him. A wide smirk is plastered on his face, eyebrow raised, and Keith pushes them apart, anger welling up in his stomach and threatening to overwhelm him. He didn’t ask for the damn train push them together so what right did the guy have for looking at Keith like that?

Crossing his arms over his chest, Keith stands straight and turns away, putting his back to the beautiful boy. He’s got one more stop before he can get off the train and head on to work and he doesn’t want to be in any worse of a mood because of Lance. Shiro’s already made fun of him mercilessly about his- nonexistent-  _ crush _ on the other boy. The last thing he needs is letting the asshole get under his skin again.

Studying the people around him, Keith’s eyes eventually fall on the little girl from before. She’s looking curiously between him and Lance, who he assumes is still standing behind him. Reaching out with one hand, she tugs on his jacket and gestures for him to come close. Keith eyes her suspiciously but acquises, bending down as best he can in the crowded train. She meets him halfway and cups her hands around his ear.

“I think your boyfriend is sad.”

Keith splutters and stands up straight. Desperately hoping to avoid the train of thought his brain wants to follow, Keith focusing on mentally willing the train to reach the next stop as quickly as possible. The little girl tilts her head to the side, ponytail swinging behind her at the motion, and frowns.

“Mommy always gives Daddy kisses when he feels sad,” she says simply, shooting him a pointed look. Mortified, he shakes his head. The girl doesn’t seem to get the point and opens her mouth to say something else but her mom has finally taken notice of her daughter.

“Jenny, sit down,” she huffs and Jenny pouts but does as she’s told. She continues to stare at him until the train slows to a stop and Keith can’t get out fast enough, pushing through the throngs of people roughly. Once he’s above ground, the cool air does little to help the heat in his cheeks.

  
  
  
  
  


**4**

Yawning, Keith settles himself into a seat for the train ride to Shiro and Adam’s apartment. Nursing a large cup of coffee, Keith adjusts in his seat to pull his bag onto his lap. Shiro needed help setting something up, but refused to say what, and Keith hopes he has enough time to swing by campus before going home. He’s been meaning to speak to his professor about the recent homework, since he’s been working on it for the past two days and gotten nowhere. Taking a large gulp of coffee and pointedly ignoring the heat, Keith checks his phone. 

2 Messages:

From: Brogane

> Are you on the way? 

> If you see cute train guy, you’re welcome to skip out on hanging with us to be with him.

Rolling his eyes, Keith types a quick “on the way” and drinks more of his coffee. He allows himself a few minutes to idly scroll through his phone and tune out the noise of the regular train rush. He checks his emails, mostly spam from the university (he didn’t really care what the campus bookstore currently had for sale), and beats a few levels on some phone game Shiro had installed a few weeks ago. He’s been stuck on the same level for ten minutes before giving up.

Keith looks up from his phone, eyes scanning the train to figure out what stop is next, and settles on Lance seated on the opposite end of the cart. Next to him, a girl is perched on the edge of the seat, body turned to face Lance, and her hands are waving wildly as she talks to him. She’s leaning into him, shoulders side by side, and Keith battles with himself on whether he should eavesdrop or not before pausing his music.

“We had, like, four margarita’s each and the whole time we kept making faces at each other. I couldn’t stop laughing,” she says, voice carrying through the otherwise empty train car, and her fingers curl around Lance’s bicep as she laughs. Lance mimics her, clearly enjoying the attention. 

The worst part, Keith thinks, is that the girl is pretty. He’s never been interested in them, himself, but he can admit that the way the girls blonde hair flows down her back and her wide eyes, that shine almost magenta in the light, make her aesthetically pleasing. Obviously, Lance enjoys it. She’s pressed up against his side, hand placed lightly on his upper arm, and continues to bat her eyes at him, laughing exaggeratedly at his ridiculous jokes. 

Keith can appreciate Lance better now, when he’s open instead of closed off, laughing instead of glaring intensely at him. The corner of his eyes crinkle when he laughs hard enough and, as long as he ignores the girl next to Lance, Keith can bask in the warmth that is his personality for a few minutes. It’s so different from how Lance looks at him and it makes his blood boil, jealousy swirling in his gut He digs his nails into the meat of his palm at the thought. 

“That’s wild, you have some really cool friends, Nyma,” he smiles.

“Yeah! And that’s not even the half of it. What about you?” 

“Hunk’s my best friend but I’m the wild one out of the two of us,” he jokes, grinning mischievously at her. Nyma tilts her head towards him, smile growing wider. Keith strains his ears to hear what comes next.

“Hey, this is my stop,” she murmurs as the train slows, “but my friends and I are having a party at my apartment. Maybe you’d want to come by?” She fishes her phone out of her pocket, pressing it into Lance’s hand and Keith wants to scream. 

“Yeah, of course,” he says, voice low and warm, and quickly types in his contact information. The spark of rage that burns in his stomach forces Keith to focus on anything but the secretive smile Lance gives Nyma while handing her phone back, fingers brushing. They share one last glance before Nyma drops a quick kiss on his cheek and bolts out the doors, waving back once she’s off. Lance grins wide in response. 

Keith is so angry that it takes two more stops from the train until he realizes Nyma’s stop was also his and he’s going to be late because of Lance once again. Worst yet, he spends the rest of the ride thinking of a good excuse to tell Shiro as to  _ why _ he's late anyway that, hopefully, results in him getting made fun of the least.

  
  
  
  
  


**+1**

“This is stupid,” Keith murmurs. He’s standing by the tracks of the subway, waiting for the next train to stop, with a small cake in his hands. The grocery store on the way home from his university was just about to close and Keith impulsively bought the chocolate cake. Besides failing his physics class, which has been giving him trouble since the beginning of term, he’ll also be losing his job once the holidays are over for reasons management decided to keep from him. Shiro and Adam have left to visit family, which left him alone for the duration of the break.

One of the last trains of the night slows down in front of him, door sliding open, and Keith takes the first seat he finds on the cart. He crosses his legs on the chair, settling the cake in his lap, and for three stops focuses on eating. The sound of the rickety tracks and periodic opening of the door fades to the background and he lets his mind drift pleasantly. Not focusing on anything in particular.

“It’s really unhealthy to eat an entire cake by yourself, you know?” a warm voice says. Keith looks up miserably, spoon hanging from his mouth as he’s too lazy to grab another bite, and sees Lance smiling at him, eyes soft and kind with a hint of mirth. Keith shrugs. He thinks he should’ve expected Lance to be here, although he’s not sure when he’d gotten on the train.

With the ends of his red sweater pulled over his knuckles, Keith rubs his hand across his nose and continues shoving heaping spoonfuls of the cake into his mouth. There’s a shuffling from the opposite side of the train and, before Keith can protest, Lance has sidled up next to him, their shoulders barely touching.

“You alright, man?” he asks and Keith can feel his gaze burning holes on the side of his face. When Keith stays quiet and glares at the seats across from him, determined to not look at the other boy, Lance waves a hand lazily in front of his face, “Earth to mullet, you in there?”

“It’s not a fucking mullet,” he snaps, eyes narrowed and glaring at the boy next to him. The breath rushes out of Keith in one go because, wow, Lance is still so beautiful, even though Keith mostly hates him right now. There’s a thick blue scarf wrapped around his neck while his cheeks and nose are flushed pink, still not quite warmed up from whatever time he’s spent on the train. His sandy brown hair falls messily around his face and Keith's fingers itch to smooth the errant strands. He smirks at Keith, eyes glinting playfully.

Lance says nothing and his smirk gradually softens to an easy smile. Keith can’t bare to look at him so he turns back to his chocolate cake, almost a quarter finished, and takes another spoonful. He’s pushing the too-sweet frosting off his next bite, hyper aware of Lance watching him, when he bumps Keith’s shoulder.

“So,” he starts, “what’s got you so bummed out?” Lance says it so casually, as if asking about the weather or if he’d done well on his finals. Keith, inexplicably, is angry. He knows Lance doesn’t understand, can’t possibly know what’s going on, but Keith is so angry that he’s here, inserting himself in Keith’s business. The anger wells up and Keith’s hands clench into fists. Focusing on breathing, he stares ahead at the rush of gray through the windows.

A rush of breath and then there’s a soft, “Oh,” before Lance throws an arm over his shoulder and Keith stiffens. Keith  _ hates  _ this. Hates the pity he knows Lance feels, without knowing why he feels that way. 

“You know, when you first met me and I was eating that entire cake to myself,” he starts, “it was because I didn’t have enough money to fly to Cuba and see my parents for my birthday. My friends didn’t know and their flights back for the new semester weren’t until a few days later. I was really torn up. I’ve never spent a birthday without my family, even during college, so I got really upset,” Keith opens his eyes, not realizing he closed them, and focuses on the floor as Lance continues, recalling old birthdays and his huge family. He isn’t sure how long Lance continues on for, arm still stretched across Keith’s shoulder and sides pressed together, but Keith falls asleep somewhere in that time. When Lance gently shakes him awake the cake in his lap is packaged up again and he’s smiling brightly at Keith.

“I’m pretty sure this is your stop,” he murmurs, “We passed by it once but you looked exhausted so I didn't want to wake you.” Keith nods absently, rubbing at his eyes, and gets ready to get off the subway. 

When he wakes up the next morning, the box of cake is sitting on the counter in his kitchen and he's just taken the first sip of his coffee when he notices the scribbled phone number on the corner of the lid. If he accidentally spilt coffee on himself and the kitchen floor in his haste to get to his phone, well, no one else had to know.


End file.
